The Prophecy Rewritten: Chapter 3, harry potter - j. k. rowling fanfic

Athebay

Characters

Regulus Black/James Potter, Regulus Black, Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, James Potter, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Albus Dumbledore, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & James Potter, Walburga Black, Kreacher (Harry Potter), Albus Dumbledore & Harry Potter, Regulus Black & Harry Potter, Regulus Black & Kreacher, Regulus Black & Sirius Black & James Potter

Chapter 3

April 21, 2025 at 03:42 AM

The morning after was incredibly awkward. Regulus woke up before James, taking a moment to observe him. He was bundled in layers of blankets, his hands sprawled across the bed in a chaotic mess. It was suffocating, really—he was like a furnace, a cuddly furnace that refused to let her go. Without his glasses, his features were clearer, softer in a way she hadn’t expected.

She got up, and was rather sore. A dull ache settled deep in her muscles, an unfamiliar pull in her thighs that made even the slightest movement difficult. She frowned, unsure of the reason, but dismissed it just as quickly. It didn’t matter. Still, Regulus dressed herself quickly, ignoring the sore pull that came with every movement. A white blouse and a black skirt would do, she decided, something simple that allows her to blend in. She had no interest in fussing with her hair and merely brushed it back before creeping toward the door. With careful, practiced quiet, she slipped out.

The Potter residence was much more. . . smaller and lighter than her own family home was. The floors were a comforting shade of brown and the walls awere not too dark and opressing, rather extremely refreshing. There were muggle items left laying around on the tables--many she could not identify.

"Ah!" A voice called out. "You're awake, dear!"

Regulus flinched at the shrill and volume of the person speaking, but quickly masked whatever turmoil she was going through. She found herself facing a rather old woman with glasses. She offered Regulus a warm smile and geustered for her to take a seat in the dining room.

Regulus hesitated, then obeyed, lowering herself carefully into the chair.

"Hello," she said after a pause.

The woman's smile brightened even more, if that were possible. "I hope you had a good night?"

Regulus tilted her head slightly. "I find myself rather sore."

The woman blinked before bursting into laughter, the sound so sudden and uncontrolled that it startled her.

Regulus remained still, though the woman did not seem to notice her stiff posture as she playfully smacked her on the shoulder, still chuckling.

Regulus did not flinch, and the woman did not notice it and take a step back, all whilst being bubbly.

"Well, that is to be expected," she said, her laughter subsiding into a knowing grin. "I dare say you enjoyed yourself?"

Regulus frowned. "It is to be expected?"

"Oh," The woman observed her for a moment. The slight raise in her eyebrows reminded her a lot of James, the resemblance was uncanny. "Oh dear. It's normal to be sore after your first time having sex!"

Regulus froze.

Her face burned.

"I—"

"No shame in it!" the woman assured her, still very amused. "Anyway, I’m James’s mother—Euphemia."

Oh. Oh.

Regulus shot up from her seat so quickly that the chair scraped against the floor. She gestured frantically for Euphemia to take her spot instead, bowing her head in a rushed, almost panicked manner.

"Forgive me for my behavior," she blurted out. "I truly did not know."

Euphemia blinked, momentarily surprised. Then, her entire demeanor softened. Without hesitation, she reached forward, taking Regulus’s hands and cupping them gently.

"Oh, my dear," she murmured. "I am your mother now. Truly, there are no formalities between us."

"Lady Potter—"

"Please, call me Mom," Euphemia cut in smoothly. "I’ve always wanted a daughter."

Regulus stiffened. "I could never disrespect you like that," she whispered, the words barely audible.

Euphemia only smiled. "I’ve always wanted a daughter," she repeated, softer this time.

Regulus exhaled, shaking lightly. If Walburga saw her now… she wouldn’t hesitate to Crucio her on the spot.

"Okay," she breathed out. "Mother."

Then, scrambling for something—anything—to say, she added, "Kreacher should be making breakfast, so don’t tire yourself."

Euphemia hummed, clearly amused. "Well, he's certainly dedicated. I tried to make tea earlier, and he nearly had a fit."

Regulus exhaled through her nose, a subtle sign of agreement.

"Kreacher takes great pride in his duties." Her voice was measured, as though she were trying to make sense of the warmth in Euphemia’s tone.

"You must be very dear to him," Euphemia remarked.

Regulus blinked, the statement catching her off guard. Dear to him? No one had ever framed it like that before. Kreacher was loyal, yes, to her more than anyone else in the family.

She hesitated. "I suppose," she admitted carefully.

Euphemia observed her for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, as if sensing Regulus's discomfort, she smiled again and gently patted her hands before releasing them. "Well, dear, you should eat something. Breakfast is almost ready. I won't have you running off on an empty stomach."

Regulus shifted, still feeling out of place, still unsure what to do with this kindness.

"That isn't necessary," she murmured, glancing toward the door. She could leave now. Should leave now.

"Nonsense," Euphemia said, waving a hand dismissively. "Sit. Eat. James will be down soon, and I have a feeling he won’t let you go anywhere without making an absolute fuss about it."

Regulus pressed her lips together at the thought. James Potter.

She had slipped out of his bed, out of his arms, as quietly as possible. And yet, the thought of facing him now made something twist in her stomach. Would he be smug? Would he brush everything off like it was nothing?

Or worse—would he regret it?

Euphemia seemed to notice the shift in her expression. "You’re worrying," she said gently.

Regulus straightened. "I am not."

The older woman merely smiled, eyes twinkling as if she knew something Regulus didn’t. "Of course not, dear. Now, tell me, how do you take your tea?"

Regulus hesitated, then exhaled, defeated. "...With honey, if you have it."

Euphemia beamed. "Wonderful choice."

They sat in silence for a while. Regulus felt very warm and soft here while back home, she was always cold and rigid. The Potter residence. . . was a better place to be, per say.

"Where is, er, Lord Potter?" Regulus asked.

Euphemia burst out laughing. She looked exactly like James, except in a dress and with longer hair. "He'd have a fit if he heard that coming from you!"

"Oh." Regulus paled.

Euphemia promptly stopped laughing and offered her a gentle look. "Ah, forgive me dear. You and Sirius are so similar. . .My husband would find it extremely funny, is all I meant."

"Hm."

"Yes, I suppose he's lounging around in his study."

Kreacher appeared in the kitchen with a pop, balancing a tray laden with steaming plates of breakfast. His large, bat-like ears twitched as he surveyed the room, his beady eyes locking onto Regulus immediately. He rushed forward, setting the tray down with an exaggerated flourish before turning his full attention to her.

"Mistress," he croaked, bowing low. "Kreacher has brought proper food, yes, Mistress must eat. Must keep her strength. Mistress is looking—" His eyes darted over her sharply, scanning her. His lips pressed into a thin line. "—tired."

Regulus stiffened at the word. She knew what he meant. The bones that protruded too much. The subtle tremor in her hands as she rested them on the table. She knew, because she had spent years perfecting the art of covering these things up.

"I'm fine," she murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Kreacher sniffed, clearly displeased. His bony fingers twitched, like he wanted to fuss over her more but knew better than to overstep.

Meanwhile, Euphemia had been watching the exchange with barely restrained amusement.

She cleared her throat. "Ah, thank you, Kreacher, dear. This all looks lovely."

Kreacher froze. His wrinkled face contorted into something that was equal parts horror and outrage, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He turned to Regulus as if expecting her to fix the absolute insult that had just occurred.

"Mistress," he hissed, voice dropping into a whisper, "the old woman is speaking to Kreacher."

Regulus, who was already picking at a piece of toast, sighed. "Yes, Kreacher, I noticed."

Kreacher's face twisted. "What does Mistress wish Kreacher to do?"

"I don't know," she deadpanned. "Perhaps answer her?"

Kreacher looked physically pained. He slowly turned to Euphemia, his entire body trembling with effort, as if the very act of acknowledging her existence was some sort of betrayal.

"...You are welcome," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

Euphemia beamed at him.

Kreacher looked personally offended.

Regulus had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. "Kreacher, you should—"

But before she could dismiss him, Kreacher's eyes landed on her plate.

He let out a strangled gasp. "Mistress Regulus is not eating enough!" He turned, muttering under his breath, "Not right, not right, Mistress must eat more, Mistress was always a small thing, but now—"

Regulus’s fingers twitched. "Stop it."

He stopped muttering but still glowered at her plate, clearly unimpressed.

Euphemia, for her part, was positively delighted by the entire exchange. "You really do dote on her, don’t you?"

Kreacher straightened, looking deeply offended. "It is Kreacher’s duty."

Euphemia patted his head.

Then, "Ah, the headmaster sent some sort of fertility potion. He instructed that you take it daily."

Regulus promptly chocked on the toast.

Before she could formulate a reply, the sound of footsteps filled the hallway, followed by a familiar, groggy voice.

"‘M fine, Dad, I can get my own breakfast, stop fussing—’"

James entered the room, still rumpled from sleep, his hair an absolute disaster, his glasses barely hanging onto his face. He blinked at the scene before him—the stillness of Regulus, the smile of amusement of his mother, and Kreacher looking one second away from attempting murder.

His eyes softened the moment they landed on Regulus. He strode forward, not caring that his mother was there, not caring that Kreacher was hovering. His hands found her face, thumbs brushing over the hollows of her cheeks.

"My star," he greeted, voice thick with sleep. "How are you?"

Regulus swallowed. "Good."

James sighed, leaning down to press a kiss against Regulus’s temple before pulling back to study her face properly. His hands lingered, warm and grounding.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice quieter now, serious in a way that left no room for deflection.

Regulus hesitated.

Before she could answer, Euphemia cleared her throat, amusement still playing at the corners of her lips. "She’s fine, dear. Or, well, she was fine before I mentioned the fertility potion."

Regulus shot her a sharp look.

James blinked. "The what?"

Kreacher made a noise of pure displeasure. "Mistress will not be taking some fool potion without Kreacher inspecting it first," he muttered, scowling.

Euphemia waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Dumbledore himself sent it, and he did say it was important."

Regulus’s grip on James’s forearm tightened. "Why would I need a fertility potion?"

Euphemia gave her a knowing look. "To birth the boy of prophecy, of course."

Regulus went still.

James, however, tilted his head. "Wait—hold on—are you saying we have to have a kid now?"

"Not have to, dear," Euphemia said pleasantly. "But it does seem rather… fated, wouldn’t you say?"

Regulus felt lightheaded. This was too much. She had barely settled into the idea of being safe, of having a home, and now the universe was demanding she bring a child into it?

"I am not infertile," She said bitterly. "I don't need a potion."

"Mm." Euphemia hummed. "I know dear, but it would speed up many things."

James, to her shock, seemed far less distressed. In fact, there was something almost… pleased in the way he was looking at her, like he had been handed a gift he never expected to receive.

"A baby," he mused, grinning a little now. "Our baby."

Regulus shot him an incredulous look. "You’re actually happy about this?"

James laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, yeah. I mean—obviously it’s a lot, and it’s not like we planned this, but… a kid, Reg. Our kid. That doesn’t sound so bad, does it?"

Regulus wasn’t sure how to process that.

Euphemia, meanwhile, clapped her hands together, beaming. "Oh, this is wonderful! My grandson—oh, I knew I’d have one someday!"

"You're assuming it's a boy," Regulus muttered.

"Of course it's a boy," Euphemia said. "It has to be a boy. That’s how prophecies work, dear."

Kreacher was fuming now, looking from Regulus to the potion bottle on the table like it was the source of all evil. "Mistress should not trust this," he grumbled.

James, still smiling, picked up the vial. "Sirius is going to be so happy!"

"Sirius probably does not want to hear about his sister taking fertility potions and participating in certain acts at night to have a baby. Ehonté," Regulus said with disgust, rolling her eyes. "If he still considers me a sister."

James paused. "What do you mean?"

Regulus tensed. She hadn’t meant to say that last part aloud. But now James was watching her, all traces of his easygoing grin gone, replaced with something far more serious.

She looked away, focusing on the teacup in front of her. “Nothing.”

“Reg.” James’s voice was gentle but firm.

Regulus inhaled sharply through her nose. “Why are we lying to each other? He—" She hesitated, fingers curling slightly against the table. “It’s different now. He doesn’t know where to put me anymore.”

James frowned. “That’s not true.”

Regulus gave him a flat look. “It is. You don't know how Sirius and I used to be in the past. I know he hates me now.”

James was quiet for a moment, running a hand through his already disastrous hair. “Alright, there is a huge misunderstanding—”

Regulus snapped. “You don't have to defend him.”

”I’m not! It’s the truth,” James said hurriedly. “To be frank with you, he used to stalk you in Hogwarts. Everywhere you went, even at night. And if someone said anything to you, Sirius would bloody them up the next day.”

”He does not want me,” She said firmly, ignoring the pang in her heart after hearing James’s words. “I’ve gotten myself used to it, we stopped talking when he went to Hogwarts so it doesn't matter what he did.”

”He was so excited for the wedding!” James suddenly confessed. “And—and he was angry with me for flirting with you in-front of everyone. . . Yelled at me in French and everything.”

”If he were truly happy for me,” Regulus said slowly, growing angrier by the minute. “He would have spoken to my on my wedding day. Or, I don’t know? Maybe stand with his sister, so people won’t gossip?”

”Master Sirius is always a fool.” Kreacher commented helpfully.

Euphemia, who had been quietly sipping her tea, finally interjected.

“Sirius loves you,” she said, not unkindly. “He’s never been the best at handling his emotions properly, but I doubt he’d ever see you as anything but family. I know the boy.”

Regulus clicked her tongue, gaze flicking back toward the vial still in James’s hands.

“That's a lie. But, whatever. Now this. . .” She said, hoping to change the conversation.

James gave a bark of laughter. “Oh, he’s going to have so many questions.”

Regulus groaned, pressing her fingers to her temples. “Do not tell him yet.”

James sobered. “I won’t. Not until you’re ready."

He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head. “I'm already planning names. Our little star."

Regulus closed her eyes for a brief moment before murmuring, “I know.”

===

"It's been two months," Regulus snapped, frustration thick in her voice. "Honestly, this prophecy feels like nothing but a hoax."

James gave a nervous laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "It's not that serious."

"Really?" Regulus scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Mother was pregnant with Sirius after just a month of marriage. Maybe Kreacher was right, and this potion is actually working against my fertility."

James sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Reg, you can’t seriously be comparing yourself to your mother. You know how she was."

Regulus narrowed her eyes. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

James hesitated. He had meant it as a passing remark, something obvious—Walburga Black had been relentless, traditional to an extreme. But Regulus’s expression had sharpened into something guarded, something unwilling to hear criticism.

"You know what I mean," James said carefully. "Your parents were… intense about family legacy. Obsessed with it, really. It’s not the same for us."

Regulus’s jaw tightened. "They had their faults," she admitted stiffly. "But they understood duty. They understood responsibility."

James exhaled slowly, resisting the urge to argue. "Reg, they treated you like an asset, not a person. You don’t have to live by their expectations anymore."

"And isn't Dumbledore treating me like an asset?" The words came out clipped, defensive. "Just because you and Sirius want to pretend my parents are monsters doesn’t mean they were completely devoid of sense. Mother was efficient. She knew how to secure the future of the House of Black."

James pinched the bridge of his nose. "I don’t—Merlin, I’m not trying to turn this into a debate about your family. I’m just saying, you don’t have to hold yourself to her standards."

Regulus’s expression didn’t soften. "Maybe not. But I refuse to pretend she was some fool who knew nothing."

James studied her for a long moment. Despite everything—despite the way Walburga Black had treated both her children—Regulus still held onto something there, something unshakable. Loyalty? A need for structure? Maybe just a refusal to let go of the only world she had known for so long.

He exhaled, reaching out to take her hand, his thumb running idly over her knuckles. "You don’t need to prove anything to anyone," he murmured. "Not to Dumbledore, not to Sirius, not to your mother."

Regulus didn’t pull away, but she didn’t reply either. The silence between them stretched, filled with thoughts she wasn’t ready to voice.

"If we were to have this child together," She began hesitantly. "I won't let anyone interfere or try to use him. Never."

"Okay."

"And I want to visit home." Regulus suddenly said, glaring at the floor.

James squeezed her hand gently. "Dumbledore said you're not allowed to-"

"Why should I care about him? I have classes too!"

James grimaced, and sighed. "Your parents can visit us here for the time being."

"Is it because you think I'd tell them about the Order of the Phoenix?"

James froze, his breath hitching as he gaped at Regulus, eyes wide with disbelief. "The what?"

"Don't lie to me Potter." scoffed Regulus.

James blinked rapidly, trying to process what Regulus had just said. His grip on her hand loosened slightly. "Wait—how do you even know about that?"

Regulus rolled her eyes, arms crossing tightly over her chest.

"Do you honestly think I wouldn't notice? You and your little friends sneaking off, hushed conversations stopping the moment I walk into a room? Sirius isn't exactly subtle, either."

James let out a nervous chuckle, running a hand through his hair. "Right. Well, if you already know about it, then you should also know why Dumbledore doesn't trust—"

"Me?" Regulus cut him off sharply, jaw tightening. "Because I'm a Black?"

James hesitated. "Because you were a Death Eater."

A tense silence stretched between them. Regulus' shoulders tensed, her fingers twitching slightly, but her face remained impassive.

"Was," she said, voice quieter. "You lot always act like that mark means I can never change. You were a bully too, once."

James exhaled through his nose, struggling to find the right words.

"It's not that. It's just… you were in deep, Regulus. And even if you don’t care about You-Know-Who anymore, he still cares about you. Dumbledore’s just trying to keep everyone safe."

Regulus scoffed. "And keeping me locked away like a prisoner is supposed to do that?"

James met her gaze, his own conflicted. "If it means keeping you and—" he hesitated, voice softening, "—our kid, and everyone safe? Yeah."

Regulus' glare wavered, something unreadable flashing across her expression before she quickly masked it.

She looked away, jaw clenched, before muttering, "Get out."

"Reg--"

James barely had time to react before Regulus whipped around, her eyes blazing with fury.

"I said get out!" she screamed, her voice shaking with rage.

James took a step back, hands raised. "Regulus, just listen—"

"Get out, Potter!" she snarled, grabbing the nearest book and hurling it at him. He barely dodged as it crashed against the doorframe.

James hesitated for a split second, searching her face for something—anything—but all he saw was unyielding anger. With a tight jaw and a clenched fist, he turned on his heel and left, the door slamming shut behind him.